


Wolves

by Cocohorse



Series: Heavenscoin One-Shots [4]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, Heavenscoin, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Making Out, Orgasm Delay, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, Table Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocohorse/pseuds/Cocohorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His body began to feel her despite the warning signals going off in his brain. Not here. He could not — they could not —"</p><p>Coin is cold, but she refuses his jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> *flickers lights on and off* welcome to hell! welcome to hell!
> 
> dont read any of this @ irl friends
> 
> So here's something for my friend, who requested "fluffy Heavenscoin smut," with "perhaps a scenario of staying out of the cold, keeping each other warm." Alright, so I forgot the exact specifics of the request while I was writing until I was already a third of the way in. I only remembered "smut" and "warmth" ((whoops)), so I'm really sorry it's not exactly how you asked, but I hope it's okay anyways!

Their first time together began with fumbles and apologies and thoughts along the lines of, _Oh, god, I don't know what I'm doing._ It ended up being quick, dirty, and shameful. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a meaningless encounter in the middle of the night to relieve and to forget. But they both silently knew that they were lonely, awfully lonely people, and yet they would not admit it — even as a one-time thing became a two-time thing, and then a three-time thing, and so on and so forth.

"Don't get attached," said people like them. She told herself this as she rode him until he cried her name — so much that he wouldn't speak directly to her for days after. He told himself this as he carried her up against a wall and fucked her so dry that they didn't need to meet again for weeks.

But then came the quiet conversations afterwards. They talked about plans for the next day, about snippets of overheard gossip, about random trivial facts they found out over the years. As time went on, they began to test private waters, but they never did they step too far. In mutual, unspoken acknowledgement, they avoided bringing up the buried parts of their past. Instead, they talked about their fears and their problems in the moment, along with their hopes and their dreams for the future — and these little moments of discovery were often followed by tiny smiles and jokes.

A new, shaking emotion — joy? — was blooming inside of them. It was something overwhelmingly unfamiliar and thrilling at the same time, and they yearned after it. They never revealed too much with each other, of course. But they told themselves that at the end of the day, their meetings were nothing serious, and definitely nothing permanent. This was just to pass the time, they told themselves, and this was just fine.

They were wolves — fierce and starving and alone — but even wolves need companionship.

 

* * *

 

Late nights became a usual occurrence nowadays. It was all just planning propos or writing speeches or examining strategies. By two o'clock in the morning, they were too drained to do anything but plod back to their separate bunkers and catch a few hours of sleep. Neither of them generally liked this business much, but these sort of things had to be done if they wanted to stay a step in front of Snow. At least, of course, these work nights provided an excuse to simply see each other in private. Even if people raised questions, none of them would ever dare say anything. How could anyone, when it was the district president and the Capitol gamemaker? Through this, the two of them were granted a special freedom around each other. However, they still did their best to not be _too_ free, and, usually, it worked.

This night was not the case.

The entire day had been incredibly busy, with everyone pitching in to help make the new propos of the month. As the evening drew on, one by one people drifted to their beds, but Plutarch decided to linger behind to finish the rest of the propos. Coin always liked to be one of the last few people awake, so naturally she joined him in the meeting room.

They were alone together, but Plutarch busied himself with writing notes on scraps of paper. Once every ten minutes or so he would look up and ask for an opinion or idea from her. She readily supplied him one if he needed it, and then she would resume reading over her speech for the next day. It was awfully quiet, she noted. The only sounds came from the scratching of his pencil and the beeping of the monitors. It was awfully cold, too. She crossed her arms and legs, thinking about how it would probably be a good idea to follow suit with the others and go to sleep in a warm, cozy bed.

Eventually, she grew restless, unable to focus, and she found herself staring more at Plutarch than her speech. His work ethic amazed her sometimes, but at moments like this, it annoyed her. A growing want had been gnawing at her stomach, and it would not leave no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down. It was frustrating being around Plutarch all day and yet not being able to do anything. She barely got to chat with him with everyone else there. She liked it earlier when he talked excitedly about his ideas for the propos. She liked it earlier when he grinned proudly at her after capturing the perfect shot of Katniss. She liked it right _then_ when he was deep in thought and engrossed in writing. Dammit, she wanted him.

Plutarch obviously sensed her gazing at him, but he showed no signs of attention. He let her go on while he scribbled and mumbled to himself, but when he seemed to reach the end of an idea, his pencil stopped moving. He lifted his face and turned his head directly to her. "Can I help you with something, Madam President?" he inquired calmly.

Her hands absently played with the edges of her speech papers. But as if being awakened by his question, her pale eyes widened and blinked. "It’s rather cold,” she remarked. She involuntarily shuddered as if to prove the fact.

His head tilted to the side and his eyebrows drew together in concern. "Do you want me to go get my jacket?"

“No.”

“You sure?” he pressed. He set his pencil down, turning his attention to her.

She didn't falter. “Yes.”

He frowned in confusion. “Then what do you want me to do?” he questioned. He never quite understood her, and it bothered him. He tried to think of an argument, but he gave up when he began to realize a bit of what she wanted.

He sighed. “C’mere,” he said, motioning his head.

A few seconds later, she found herself wrapped in a hug. She sat there in his arms, her body drawn softly against him. “You’re so warm,” she muttered underneath his chin.

His throat rumbled against her as he spoke. “So I’ve heard.” He beamed briefly, and then he withdrew from her. “Look, I’ve got to write,” he said earnestly as he was shot a look of dismay. “You should go back to your room. It’s warmer there. Or, please, just put on my jacket at least.”

"It's not your jacket that I want on me."

Plutarch’s face instantly went through a circuit of various emotions and reactions, but it finally settled upon tired amusement. By then, they were used to each other's advances. And by then, neither of them cared much for what the other thought. This meant random seduction attempts and outright arguments. "Very funny, Madam," he sighed, disentranced. "But I’ve got to finish this propos. How about later tonight, right after this? That is, I mean, if I’m still awake."

"But I'm _cold_ right _now_."

"Then have my _jacket_. Look, I don't want you to get sick!" argued Plutarch in exasperation, and he stopped himself before his voice could climb too high. He threw a wary glance around the room. "And god, we're out _here_ ," he hissed, waving his hand emphatically.

"It's half past midnight. The only visitor we'd probably get is the cat."

He grumbled under his breath. “Dear god, I can’t believe you actually want to do this. Can’t you wait ‘til later? How 'bout just a kiss?" he suggested modestly, attempting to bargain.

"Fuck you, Plutarch."

"Who knew the President had such a dirty mouth?" he mused, dripping with sarcasm. He rolled his eyes, and with a heavy sigh, he picked up his pencil and returned his attention back to his notes.

"Do you want to feel my dirty mouth?"

Her voice dropped to a husky murmur, and her mouth hovered tantalizing close to him. She leaned her side on the edge of his table, watching and smiling as he stared up from his papers. His eyes met her breasts and then her lips and then her eyes. He saw the heat in those eyes, and blinking in surprise, he started, failed, and coughed.

"Madam President," he said loudly, startled.

"Alma,” she softly corrected.

"Alma..." His throat throbbed, and his body began to feel her despite the warning signals going off in his brain. Not here. He could not — they could not —

She slinked over to him in the chair, pulled the pencil out of his hand, and sat herself down in his open lap, her back facing him. She adjusted herself, feeling into his thick legs and pelvis. Then very slowly and smoothly, she rocked her weight back and forth, arching her back against his stomach and grinding her ass into his crotch. He choked out something indecipherable — probably a curse in Latin — but for the most part he had gone weak, succumbed to her movements. How could he deny her anything?

"You like that, Mr. Heavensbee?" she breathed. Her voice dipped and twisted, sounding sweet and good in his ears.

It took a moment for him to manage a response. His head buzzed, and he mumbled, "Yes..."

She pulled herself out of his lap and stood up, putting his pencil back in to his hand. "There," she said, ruffling his hair with a hand.

He looked up at her from his seat unsteadily. His cheeks were flushed with blood. "That's — that's just mean,” he stammered in protest, his nerves quivering.

She licked her lips. "Impatient?"

“Just get it _over_ with!” he snapped.

His eyes followed her as she lowered herself in the seat beside him, and he exhaled as a delicate hand slid into his lap. Her smooth fingertips reached into his thighs and felt his growing arousal underneath the fabric of his pants. Plutarch’s body trembled and he breathed hard as she caressed him. "Right here? Right now?" he gasped in a shaking voice.

Coin lightly traced the outline of his arousal through his pants, continuing to coax him. "Only if you want to,” she murmured. Her searching fingers felt him slowly harden in reaction.

His mouth clamped closed and his eyes shut as if in pain. He took a moment to swallow and steady himself, and then he opened his eyes. She could see the internal struggle in his glazed eyes as they dilated with dying interest. "I want to," his voice rasped.

Coin leaned forward and kissed him hard and hungrily, and he received her lips passionately with his own. She leaned into his arms as he pulled her into an embrace, pressing their bodies together in a burning heat with equal and shared enthusiasm. As her hand stroked his length through his tightening pants, she also found herself meeting the surprising smoothness of his lips, unmarked and unchapped from a life of Capitol luxury. Hers were rough, faded pink, and tasted of tea, but by the deep murmurs of pleasure against her mouth, he didn't seem to care at all. His hands ran down her clothed back, exploring each part of her spine. She felt his fingers graze the very top of her underwear, and she broke off from their kissing to stare at him. He met her eyes, and his mouth upturned. The gamemaker always had ideas.

He dropped down onto his knees in front of her. His hands were trembling, but they made quick work at the little buttons of her pants, and after a few moments he was able to ease them down her slender hips. He pulled them off her feet, along with her shoes, and continued on. Rocking his knees forward, he slowly trailed his mouth up her smooth thighs, pausing in intervals to run a hungry tongue over her soft skin. He traveled up to her underwear, and there he pressed slow, hot kisses over the thin, warming material. She cupped his head with a hand and rubbed his cheek with a thumb, while trying to tug him closer to her. She couldn’t. He pulled away and looked up at her with a pair of shining eyes and a glowing face. Not yet. There were more things he wanted to do for her. He raised himself off of his knees to his full height above her. He took her by the hips, and lifted her up onto the table. For a moment, she looked pretty just sitting there, with a flushed face and no pants on. She was his and he was hers, and he absolutely loved it.

He let himself be pulled over by the collar of his uniform. Their heads tilted and their noses brushed as they crashed together into a fervent kiss. He smelled like soap, she noticed, as adrenaline pumped through her veins and blood rushed through her ears. His body was strong and insistent, and he pushed her downwards, deepening their intense kiss and pressing their hips closer together. Her eyes were closed, and she took his fumbling hands into hers and placed them on her chest. He understood right away, and as he kissed her jaw, his fingers went to work again on unbuttoning. Once her top was free, she tore it off her arms, and then she allowed him to reach behind her back and peel away her bra. Besides her underwear, she had become completely bare and raw.

Plutarch broke away from her lips and took a look at her. “Christ,” he whispered, and then he bent down to taste her. She panted loudly up at the ceiling, clutching at the edges of the table as he sucked her breasts. He ran his tongue around her nipples and grazed his teeth across her pale skin, creating tremors throughout her body. Goddamn, he was good with his mouth, and not just with arguing and smirking. Coin ran her hands through his blond hair over and over, sinking her fingers into his scalp as shocks of hot sensations coursed throughout her body. Burning heat pooled between her thighs, and she wanted him right _then_.

Not yet. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting her off early.

She pushed him away and demanded, “Unzip your pants.” After he obeyed, she pulled back his underpants and curled her fingers around him. Slowly, she moved her hand up and down his stiffening cock, watching his eyelids lower and his breath grow faster and louder. “Is this good?” she evenly asked him, quickening the movement of her hand. Maybe he was good with his mouth, but she was good with her hands. She liked controlling him, and she knew he liked it, too.

“Y-yes, M-madam,” stuttered Plutarch, straining in his seat. She pumped his cock faster, and he started to rock his hips forward, humming with pleasure. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her, and breathlessly gasped, “God, I’m going to come —”

“Don’t you goddamn dare come yet,” she threatened under her breath, and she stopped and snatched her hand away. She ignored his astonished look and his agonized whine. “I’ll be back in a second,” she said. When she returned, she was tearing open a condom wrapper. He didn’t have time or the right frame of mind to question where and how she got it, for she was already unrolling it over his cock.

Plutarch shivered in shock under her touch. “Thank god,” he groaned.

She sat down on the edge of the table and stripped off her underwear, the last piece of her clothing. He gradually got up and approached the table where she waited to receive him. Stepping up to her and kissing her briefly, he shoved aside the papers and trapped her between his arms on the table. He guided himself in front, and as he slowly entered her, the two of them began to gasp. She was already slick with her own moisture, so he was able to easily push through until he was fully within her. She felt fucking fantastic, and he rested his head on her shoulder and gave an experimental thrust. A sharp, surprised moan escaped her lips, encouraging him to rear back and hit his cock deeper inside her. She moaned louder as she took him in, making his cock swell and further fill her. She was so soft, warm, and wet, clenching against him. Soon, his hips found a slow, rhythmic motion, and each thrust into her became easier as she began to fit around him. She clung tightly on to him as he fucked her on top of the table, digging her fingers into his thick shoulder blades and wrapping her legs around his broad waist. They buried their heads into each other's necks, gasping and grunting against one another.

Plutarch held on rigidly to the table as he grew more eager and excited with each thrust of his hips. Coin grasped at his back with nails sharp enough to leave scratches and bruises, gasping his name as he drove his cock back and forth into her. The table shuddered and their noises grew, but it only made his movements faster and more frantic. No longer could he hold his urges back, and the fear of getting caught and the sound of Coin gasping urged him on. She tightened around him as they moved together, rocking against the table. He started to curse between moans and rapid thrusts, ignoring her clawing at his sweaty back. Trembling pleasure mounted on top of them, threatening to break them in half, but they held on to each other as if struggling to stay afloat through crashing waters.

With one overwhelming thrust of his hips, she shuddered against him and cried out. He continued to slam into her until a wave of white heat struck and blinded him. Every fiber of his body screamed as he came. Pleasure had overcame every one of Coin’s senses, and she simply gripped on to Plutarch’s body as he rode out each jolt of his climax into her, gasping her name.

Eventually, she sensed Plutarch finishing as each of his bucks softened. She loosened her grip on him, and she felt him quake and pant against her skin. She sighed quietly into his shoulder as he gently pulled out. Then, he released the table and took her into his weak arms. He sloppily kissed her on the side of her mouth and said, “You were — you were good.” His face was bright and exhausted. The corners of Coin’s mouth quirked upwards.

They helped each other dress and clean up, and they did their best not to stumble in the hallways as they made their way up to her room. Once behind the door and inside the room, they collapsed. Coin wanted to rinse herself off, but she was too goddamn tired to do anything, and anyways, she liked crawling into bed with him.

Plutarch welcomed her with happy kisses on her lips and caresses on her hair. She let him do whatever he wanted, preferring to turn on her side, back pressed against his chest. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around her sides, and he was content to rest his chin on top of her head.

“You didn't get to work on the propos,” she stated. She was trying to come up with an apology. She knew how important his work was to him.

He paused and shrugged. “It's fine. It wasn't going to be finished anytime soon,” he reasoned. He knew what she was trying to do, and he didn’t want her to feel guilty. He squeezed her waist and said, with some hesitation, “I guess that means more time to, well, spend with you.”

Coin went quiet. Good thing he couldn’t see her face.

"Madam President," he whispered a minute later. His heart beat quickly.

"Mm?" Her eyes were closed, but she listened.

"Are you warm enough?"

"Mm."

They fell asleep with the new, shaking emotion blooming in their chests.


End file.
